The Amazing World Outside The Void (Is Just Outside Your Reach)
by GrammerPolice
Summary: Danny's lost somewhere. He's surrounded by a Void that is slowly, but surely, invading his mind. How had a place he grew to know as a "home" become so frightening? He had to find a way out...before it consumed him.


He was awake, he was sure of that. He had pinched himself, just like Alice did. But when he did, he couldn't see any stoned caterpillars or invisible cats. Well, he doubts that he'd be able to see the invisible cat in any other situation anyway. He was surrounded by an endless blanket of black, shadowy and dark, so that didn't help his chances of seeing said invisible cat anyway.

At first, he was afraid. He wanted to go home, wherever 'home' happened to be. He had no memories of his past, none that he could clearly picture in his mind's eye, at least. He only had the scent of machine oil and the sound of soft laughter to remember of 'home'.

But, eventually, he began to see this inky void as a new sort of 'home'. He didn't know how long he's been here, how long he's drifted in this space. But, he does know a few things about the place he woke up in.

He knows that he is, contrary to his belief when he first woke up, awake; he knows that he is moving, as he can feel a soft breeze againsts his skin; he know just how many synonyms for 'black' he can remember; and he knows just how pointless playing "Eye-Spy" is.

But, the list of what he doesn't know is much, _much_ longer.

How did he get here? Who were his parents? Did he have parents? Was he a good person? Did he have friends? Why can't he stop himself from crying everytime he thinks of his family? And so many more.

All in all, he's decided that he should stop making lists. But he can't help himself, lists are a kind of therapy for him, which is another thing he's found out about himself.

He has a list of how many colours he knows, how many languages he knows, how many different kinds of flavours of ice-cream he knows, the types of ways to stitch a wound, how many flavours of crisps he knows- y'know, all of the important things in life.

Sometimes he dreams of what his life used to be like, before the mysterious void he's found himself in. He's heard of situations like the one he's found himself in, where people completely shut out the rest of the world. Where the lights are completely shut off and their ears are blocked. After awhile they start becoming delirious, suffering from hallucinations. They become trapped in their own minds. They scream and cry, pulling their own hair out - and that was only after a few hours.

Why hasn't that happened to him yet? Why has he yet to lose his mind? Maybe he was in one of those experiments - and he's only been put into a chamber for a few minutes, or hours. He had started to count the seconds after his initial panic when he first woke up. He had counted until he had finally passed out, reaching somewhere around either 50,000 or 60,000. He couldn't remember anymore, which he found very disconcerting.

He had trailed a hand over his arms once, looking for any moles or injection marks. But when he had, he found scars. Some were long and jagged, while others were straight, almost clinical.

This made him even more anxious to find out what kind of life he had lived. As his fingers trailed along the imperfections that marred his skin, his touch was feather-light. Something in his chest burned slightly, like a fire willing to be lit.

He had gasped softly, it wasn't painful. It almost felt, familiar? Like a feeling he was used to, something that was normal. But, then again, what about his circumstances was normal?

Following that, the fire in his chest did not go away, but it didn't grow any stronger. It just continued to stay there, and he was glad for that. His flame seemed to calm the darkness, to push it back. He wasn't choking anymore. The darkness wasn't suffocating him. The little fire started to feel like it truly belonged with him, like it had always been there. The unknown hours he floated along didn't seem so gloomy, and, with the fire, he could finally sleep without the nightmares usually faced. He began to depend on it. He needed it to protect him from the shadows that had attempted to consume him.

But then, one day, it was gone.

He felt as if he was drowning. The darkness crept in once more, they replaced his little flame. He cried, he cried for what seemed like hours. He had lost an anchor he hadn't known he needed.

His mind was slipping, farther and farther. A place that had once felt like 'home' now seemed so foreign to him. It was as if a fog had lifted, the Void had been eating away at his mind, willing him to submit to it.

But he couldn't. His head wouldn't allow it. His brain repelled and fought against it.

At least, he thought his brain was still fighting it. He thought that his mind was untouched by the shadow's claws.

He hadn't noticed just how close the darkness had gotten to taking over his mind. The flame had given its own life for his., and he hadn't even realised it.

Veins of shadows began spreading in his head, dragging him deeper into the depressing, self-deprecating funk that his guilt-ridden mind has sunk into.

It never took over, though. There was always some stubborn part of his brain that seemed to be immune to the void. Untouched by the darkness that was trying to break down that final wall.

But, it couldn't. There was a light there, a fire that just refused to be quenched. When he realised what that light was, he was very tempted to smack himself - though, he'd probably miss. He had terrible hand-eye coordination.

That warmth at the back of his mind was the little flame. The same fire that he had thought the void had crushed.

Why he hadn't noticed the similarities sooner, he didn't know. But now, the darkness was receding. The flame was fighting it off, forcing it out of his mind.

For the second time, the little fire saved him, saved him from the void surrounding him.

 _The Void_. It sounded equally silly and daunting, like yin and yang. The most polar-opposites, yet they complimented each other. Without one, the other wouldn't exist. Well, that's not true. But he didn't care that much about all that 'deep and meaningful' stuff. He never has, atleast he thinks he never has. But why would small things like that change?

He shifted slightly, folding his legs into the lotus position. He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek leaned on his closed fist. He had practised this for a while, and helpfully, he was rather flexible. Maybe he had done gymnastics? Or did he just like freaking people out?

Probably both. He had a feeling that he was a little scamp back...wherever he came from. He tried to stop his mind from travelling there. Typically, he succeeded. But with what happened recently (was it recently?), he couldn't help himself.

Thousands of questions circled around and around in his skull. He felt as if he was a protector, always there for those in need. But, then again, isn't that what most people say to themselves? That if someone fell to the floor, you'd be the fist one to run to them and help out. Everyone else would right on by, but not you. You'd run to the rescue. You'd call 911, you put them into the recovery position (do you even know what that is?), you start giving them mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (are you prepared to do that?), you'd start doing chest compressions (do you even know how?).

You would be a hero.

But then the time comes, someone does fall to the floor and everyone else is walking right on by. And so do you. You think that someone is bound to stop and help, so you don't have to do anything. _Someone else will help_ is repeated in your skull as their heart stops beating. As they convulse on the floor. As a life is lost right in front of you. As you walk passed them. _Someone will help them._ But, just not you.

Well reader, can I ask you a question?

 _ **Would you be a hero?**_


End file.
